Filibuster
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Harry and the Weasleys are getting back to normal after the war.
A/N: Yay oneshots! I am incorporating some new cannon characters now woo. Love me some Weasley hijinks. (FYI its all cannon pairings)

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Late-June 1998 at the Burrow brought a wave of stifling heat, which was only made worse by the number of grown adults filling the cozy home. The war had ended almost two months ago, and those in the Weasley household, as well as the rest of the wizarding world, were slowly adjusting to life lived without the looming spectre of Voldemort. This particular morning, the raven-haired hero sat at the worn wood table that had held many large family dinners over the years. Harry was picking at a scar in the table with a jagged fingernail, before Hermione returned with a pitcher and two crystal clear glasses levitating in front of her on a tray, "Stop that you."

Harry smiled genially, ruffling his hair, "Sorry."

"That's quite all right," the bushy haired witch answered, setting the tray on the table and sitting down across from Harry, "So what's going on with you and Ginny then?"

Taking a long gulp to delay, Harry darted his eyes around to make sure no Weasleys had come down stairs yet, particularly a certain freckle-faced, chocolate eyed, lithe and beautiful red-haired… _anyway_. Harry slowly lowered his class down, focusing on matching the base up with the ring of condensation it had previously left, "I'm not really sure?"

"As half of the relationship, shouldn't you?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Oh, Hermione if you only knew how much I do _not_ want to have this conversation," Harry muttered, putting his face in his hands.

"I can guess, given your ignorance in the matter," she rejoined.

Harry scowled. "Please don't go off about the emotional teaspoon again," Harry sighed despondently.

"It's emotional _range_ of a teaspoon and you know it," Hermione nearly shouted, before remembering that most of the household was still sleeping.

"Eh."

"There is a major difference _sir_."

" _Fine_. We spend most of our time together – flying, practicing Quidditch, swimming…and the other night she fell asleep on my shoulder when we were listening to that program on the wireless?" Harry rambled.

Hermione's expression looked puzzled as she attempted to draw a conclusion on the evidence presented, "Lee Jordan's? I remember that…she was only asleep for _some_ of that…"

Harry's green eyes lit up, "Y'mean she was cuddling me _deliberately_?"

As Hermione opened her mouth to answer, George spilled into the kitchen, "What's this I hear about 'deliberate cuddling'? Kids today, next thing you know they'll be making _prolonged intentional eye contact_!"

Harry's cry of 'Oi!' and Hermione's arguments that this was an entirely 'valid and necessary inquiry into the inner workings of Harry and Ginny's relationship,' were cut off by George's frantic shushing.

" _Whatever_ , you couple of cackling hens, I am on an _important_ mission."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry played along, "What is this 'important mission' then?"

George looked over his shoulder in a paranoid manner before answering, "Mum's on the warpath, wants us to degnome the garden because ' _nobody_ has done it in weeks and they're running rampant.'"

Harry glanced out the window, noting the tiny figures that seemed to have set up house beneath a swaying beech tree near the Weasley's garden, while Hermione muttered something that sounded like 'she's not _wrong_ ,' before George changed the subject. Scratching his slightly overgrown beard, George eyed Harry, " _So_ , Ginny problems?"

With a groan, Harry pushed back his chair dramatically as he stood, the legs scraping loudly along the floor, "No I am not having a 'Ginny problem,' Hermione was just being _nosy_."

" _Well_!" Hermione scoffed with scorn, taking the slightly emptied pitcher back to the larder.

Pausing, ready to apologize, Harry closed his mouth, _best let her work that one off…maybe with Ron…,_ and shook his head sipping his juice. George looked at him thoughtfully, "If you _were_ having a problem, I could help you…you're like my brother you know."

Uncomfortable and unsure how to react to this emotional outpouring, Harry looked up, only to see George struggling to hold in his laughter, face turning crimson and tears running down his cheeks. When the laughter finally escaped, Harry shoved the red head and leaned against the wall next to the open window, letting the air refresh his sweat sheened face, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

"C'mon Harry, I was being serious y'know."

Harry quirked a brow but remained silent as George continued, "About both things, here, let me show you." With that, George pulled an apple sized jar filled with mirky liquid out of his robes and handed it to Harry, "This is the solution to your Ginny problem."

"I _told_ you there – "

"It's a very light potion, that when ingested, makes the drinker more… _aware_ of the giver's pheromone output," George explained, heedless of Harry's arguments.

"I'm not going to give Ginny a _love_ potion," Harry whispered angrily, eyes flicking upwards as he became aware of the sounds of waking Weasleys, like a tuning orchestra – Arthur's shuffle, Ron shouting at the ghoul for waking him, Ginny's _shower_ turning off...Harry shook his head, _not ok Harry, George is right here staring at you_.

Unaware of his young friend's internal struggle, George persisted, "It's not a love potion it just – "

Hermione chose this moment to reenter the conversation, "Have you even _tested_ that? I won't even begin to argue about the _moral_ implications of – "

George rolled his eyes, "Small miracle, that."

Just as the young witch began to work her rage up into a real storm, the stairs creaked and Harry heard Ginny's voice speaking to Molly about Luna coming for a visit to 'check for nargles.' The trio in the kitchen froze, George's eyes dancing with laughter and Harry's wide with panic. _She's going to come down here, and think I'm trying to slip her a love potion, and then she's going to hate me, and marry Krum, and have dozens of little Bulgarian babies –_

Hermione punched Harry's arm and whispered frantically, "If you don't want to totally bugger things up with Ginny you'd better get rid of that quickly."

If he'd been less crazed, Harry might have taken a moment to snicker at Ron's influence on Hermione's vocabulary, but given the situation, his mind merely flitted past the thought and moved on to more pressing issues – like the fact that his maybe girlfriend was about to murder him before it was even 9 am. Glancing around for a solution, Harry heard the last stair and caught a glimpse of Ginny's crimson hair, dangling down her back, and tossed the bottle right out the window. They could hear the bottle shatter on impact, along with George's moan that "the potion was a _prototype'_ and Hermione's renewed diatribe on the social ills perpetuated by George's questionable products. Harry drew his wand and silenced his co-conspirators, "Can we stop this argument _before_ Ginny comes in?" he implored.

Just then, Ginny entered the kitchen, quirking an eyebrow, "What argument?"

Hermione's mouth opened and closed like a holiday nutcracker, but George, despite his prankster image, took pity on Harry and responded cooly, "We were discussing who's going to win the match on Saturday."

As Ginny began an impassioned argument detailing exactly _why_ the Wasps had an inferior offensive strategy that could never seriously challenge Puddlemere, Harry sighed in relief, before turning his full attention to the youngest Weasley.

The day passed with muggy heat, a lazy swim in the pond, and dodging Molly Weasley's attempts at gaining allies in her campaign to clean the house. Sunset brought cooled temperatures and a relaxing evening in the parlor listening to the wireless. Harry was jarred from his doze as the sound of the latest issue of _Which Broom?_ slipped from his slackened, sleepy grip. He stood and stretched, completely oblivious to the stare his exposed stomach drew from one Ginny Weasley. She shook her head, "Off to bed then Harry?"

Stifling a yawn, Harry nodded, "Night Gin." As he left, he ran his long calloused fingers through over Ginny's hair, who closed her eyes in contentment and tried to control her sigh, "Night."

Sadly oblivious, Harry plodded up the stairs and mechanically completed his brief nightly ritual, placed his glasses on the windowsill, and stripped down to his pants, before slipping under a single white sheet loosely draped over his camp bed. It wasn't long until he slipped into Morpheus' embrace, carried away in dreams of treacle tart, racing brooms, and Ginny.

Hours later, Harry woke to a sliver of moonlight cutting across his face, unsure of what interrupted his sleep. _Probably the heat or…_ he felt pressure on his chest… _Arnold? How'd you get in here and on my bed?_ Reaching for his glasses, he whispered _lumos._ Harry squinted for a moment trying to make sense of the tiny being that was currently perched on his sternum. Unless Arnold had grown hands and gone bald overnight it was a… _gnome_?

The teenager and the garden pest stared into each other's eyes, before the gnome was tackled by another one, as a third climbed up the sheet that dangled onto the floor and launched itself for Harry's face. Prepared for impact, he was instead the recipient of tiny, dry, _kisses?_

With an unearthly screech, Harry leapt from the bed, only to find a tiny regiment of wrinkly gnomes gazing up at him lovingly. _What could I have possibly?_ Suddenly everything fell into place in his sleep-muddled mind, _George is a dead man._ Drawn from his murderous thoughts by the sounds of multiple pairs of feet pounding up the stairs. Ron threw the door open, shirt inside out and backwards, and Hermione close behind, similarly mussed, _guess where Ron was is no mystery_ , Harry thought with a smirk, before turning his attention back to the gnome problem, "George needs to fix this."

"Did I hear my name?" George called, waltzing into the room with Ginny in tow.

Harry blushed at his lack of clothing, but recovered quickly, "Your little _gift_ has caused some real problems."

The new arrivals took in the throng surrounding Harry, some of the small visitors were tidying the camp bed, and others stroked his bare feet in admiration, while still more sat serenely contemplating his 'dreamy' face.

Ginny peeped over George's shoulder and scowled, eyes sparkling with amusement, "Are you _two timing_ me Harry James Potter?"

Harry looked up into Ginny's sleepy face, "Are we _dating_?"

Ron smirked, "Actually it's more like… _eleven_ timing you if my numbers are correct."

The dark haired 'god among gnomes' glared at Ron and raised his wand, only to be interrupted by another small body and George's triumphant shout, "Twelve! I've _got_ to document this."

Hermione entered the dialogue at this point with a shrill cry, "You are _not_ marketing this potion George Weasley."

A loud 'ahem' broke into the cacophony and the small crowd parted, even the deliriously in love gnomes, as Mrs. Weasley entered the room in a worn dressing gown, red and grey hair braided loosely down her back, and stood in the center of the room, eyeing each of them imperiously. No one spoke, until the matriarch opened her mouth, "Maybe _next_ time you'll degnome the garden when I say."


End file.
